


Anxious

by TheAuthorGod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety, Castiel has Anxiety, M/M, Social Anxiety, Writer Castiel, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorGod/pseuds/TheAuthorGod
Summary: Castiel just completed his bachelor's degree and now has to try and figure out how to maneuver through life beyond.  To him, it feels like life's ended since there's no more routine, no more milestones.  Luckily, he's surrounded by people who don't know more about life, but a least know more about finding their place in the world.---So, this is a story that I'm using to cope with my own mental state which is shitty right now, so please remind me to update; otherwise it will never happen (like some of my other unfinished works).





	1. Cormac McCarthy's The Road

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if this is good. It's different than my other writing, more like literature or prose writing than novel writing. Idk.

Anxious | Chapter 1: Cormac McCarthy's The Road

Honestly, Castiel wasn’t sure he was ready for this.  
  
Sure, he was an adult completely done baking with a shiny new bachelor’s degree and a landscape-oriented driver’s license, but he still had to ask middle-aged women with strollers to explain to him how bus schedules worked. He was still just at the cusp of this new step in life, adulthood. More like a plateau, though.  
  
Everything before now had been neatly sanctioned into a precise timespan, usually bookended with ceremonies or graduations. Now, however, the world was new and exciting and dangerous and scary and limitless.  
  
It made Castiel’s mind feel stuffy.  
  
How was he supposed to know when something was going to happen? How was he supposed to structure his time? With no debt, he honestly could just bum around for a while. And there was no punishment?  
  
Who told adults when they were ‘adulting’ the wrong way?  
  
Who came along after him with a red pen assessing his work?  
  
Could you fail at life? How badly did you have to mess up to be considered a failure? Did you have to be in jail?  
  
Fuck.  
  
Castiel blinked his eyes rapidly and spun his head to look out the window. He really didn’t need to worry himself into a panic attack, especially not in public.  
  
Although, he wasn’t entirely sure if the mostly-empty coffeeshop counted as public.  
  
There was one man sitting in the corner typing furiously at his computer, intermittently taking a sip from his thermos that looked to be three times larger than the largest size the coffeeshop offered. And up at the big windows at the front of the shop, there was a girl flopped over the skinny counter, asleep.  
  
They probably wouldn’t care if Castiel broke down, but anyone could walk in from the rain. Maybe it would be someone that would later interview him. They’d remember his coffeeshop breakdown and send him a nice little letter explaining how other applicants were a ‘better fit based on the company’s values and work-environment’.  
  
As it was, Castiel got enough of those pleasantly-worded yet disappointing email without breaking down in his favorite coffeeshop.  
  
He didn’t need those emails, though; he needed a job. In fact, that was exactly what brought him to sitting in a coffeeshop that Thursday morning. He was mooching off the wifi and applying to jobs.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the screen and exited out of the newest ‘thank you for interviewing with us, but we’ve found other applicants have more experience and are better yadda yadda’ email.  
  
Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be; maybe he was going to become one of those homeless horror shows for the rest of his life, living one meal to the next, smelling like mismatched perfume samples, and using the same toothbrush until the bristles were falling out.  
  
“You want another tea?” The employee from behind the counter surprised Castiel. He hadn’t ever come out from there before, at least not when Castiel had been there, and now Castiel could see the man’s little half-apron and threadbare jeans. He leaned over Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ll give it to you on the house since you’re looking for a job.”  
  
“How do you know I’m looking for a job?” Castiel blushed. He stared at the keyboard and absently tapped his fingers on the keys, not actually typing anything, just enjoying the ‘tack tack’ sound that they made.  
  
The man in the half-apron rounded the table and pulled out the chair ahead of Castiel. He took the seat, sliding the new to-go cup of tea into the spot where the old, empty one had been setting. Snatching up the old one, he tossed it back and forth between his hands absently before aiming it at the trashcan. He pumped a fist in the air when he made it in one shot.  
  
Fiddling with the new cup a little, Castiel turned it to where he could see the sharpie-written name. No matter how hard Castiel tried for the opposite, he was definitely a pessimist. The name looked like ‘Cas’ followed by an elongated lazy scribble.  
  
“It’s Cas, right? I knew it started with a ‘C’ and was a bit of a weird name, but my brain kept supplying names like ‘Constantine’ and ‘Coronel’ and all these other ‘C’-names that couldn’t possible go with your gorgeous face.”  
  
Was he…? Was this guy flirting with him? Castiel blushed even harder. “Yeah. My name’s Castiel.” God, what was he supposed to say? He was so lame and this guy was so cool and- “In grade school, this one girl called me ‘Clarence’ for 3 years because she couldn’t remember my name.” Well, babbling was better than nothing, right? He could stand to talk slower, though. That might help.  
  
The barista snickered. “Did she finally move away or something?”  
  
Castiel shook his head. “No, she became my best friend, learned my real name, then insisted on calling me ‘Clarence’ anyway.” He shrugged. Meg was just that kind of a person; she lived loud and unapologetically. She didn’t do things wrong; she just did them exactly how she meant to do it even in retrospect.  
  
She had once punched a guy in Chemistry class. She was suspended and grounded, then snuck out anyway to go to a party and was caught drinking underage and put in jail for the night, which only ended up with more punishment. But did that mean Meg did anything wrong? No, of course, not; to her, everyone else was wrong and she did everything right.  
  
Meg had Facebook friends from classes that she’d dropped after just one class. She had made such a lasting impression in that one block of time that people sought her out, wanted to be her friend. She had that effect on people.  
  
The exact opposite sort of effect than Castiel did. Once, there was a girl, Haley, who also minored in English, that had all of the same classes as Castiel through the entire English-minor program at their university. They had the same classes with the same professors at the same times each semester. Cas knew her name and ever remembered some of her read-aloud assignments. In their 300-level World Lit class during the Fall semester of their senior year, they were made partners on a project.  
  
Haley had to ask him his name. She didn’t know, at all. They’d been in the same classes for 3 years. Castiel figured that maybe it was because he had a unusual name, that she recognized him but didn’t remember his name; Castiel would’ve forgiven that, but then she said, “I haven’t seen much of you. Are you a transfer student?” So, yeah, she really hadn’t known or recognized him.  
  
After a clipped, “No,” they’d begun planning what became the most awkward group project that Castiel had ever worked on. That even included the sex-ed presentation in 5th grade, when the guest sex-ed teacher had thought that ‘Castiel’ was a girl’s name, put him in a group of girls researching ovaries, and hadn’t noticed the mix-up until presentation day.  
  
Suffice it to say, Castiel had perfected being invisible.  
  
So then, why was the barista flirting with him? It must be a supremely slow day. But, usually when it was slow, the barista would read a book. Castiel had seen him stand there at the register with a copy of Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 or some other book that Castiel had seen on a dystopic fiction list.  
  
“So, my name is Dean, by the way.” He pinched his shirt next to his nametag with one hand and held the other out to Castiel in a formal handshake.  
  
Castiel cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what moved this guy to come and talk to him, but he did take the proffered hand. Dean must’ve forgotten his book. That had to be the reason why the cute, sandy-haired young man had ventured out to try to scrape together a conversation, but a quick glance at the counter proved that theory wring. Next to the credit card machine rested a parted copy of The Road by Cormac McCarthy; he looked to be about two-thirds of the way through.  
  
Did that mean he was past the part with the cannibals? That had been interesting, but it had scared Castiel to the point of nightmares for the final weeks of the semester.  
  
He’d read it for a 200-level Genre fiction class. His favorite unit had been the Fantasy one because he’d picked Terry Pratchett from the recommended reading and everyone should know, Terry Pratchett’s books are amazing.  
  
“Some weather we’re having.” Dean leaned his arms on the table and looked out at the fog-rain combination that had plagued their neighborhood for the last few weeks.  
  
Castiel glared at him, ignoring the window and rain and fog and outdoors all together. “Are we really going to talk about the weather?” He realized mere nanoseconds after it had left his mouth that he shouldn’t have said it. He had a natural knack for screwing things up, and talking to a cute barista was no exception. Busying himself, Castiel stroked his middle fingers over the ‘D’ and ‘K’ keys. He frowned further; it was like even his subconscious was calling him a ‘dick’.  
  
Seemingly unperturbed by Castiel’s lack of social prowess, Dean sat his head into the crook of one of his palms, leaning over the table. “Well, what is it that you’d rather talk about?” He flashed a charming smile.  
  
Heart thumping in his ears, Castiel found his body behaving more like pudding than usual, he was warm all over, sluggish, and maybe a bit salty.  
  
“I could ask you about your job search, but we both know that’s a sore subject.” Dean’s eyebrows lifted into an expression that mean she was trying to remind Castiel of a specific event.  
  
Unfortunately, Castiel had no idea to which event Dean’s eyebrows were referring. Dean’s eyebrows needed to provide a bit more context so that they and Castiel were on the same page.  
  
Still looking at Dean’s eyebrows, Castiel leaned forward and whispered, “I know you’re making a call-back to something in particular but…” He leaned back into his chair and trailed off, finishing the sentence with a noncommittal shrug.  
  
Instead of being mad or disappointed, Dean laughed. It was one of those deep, belly laughs that usually made Castiel feel even more awkward than before. This belly laugh, Dean’s, however, sent his stomach spiraling. He wasn’t sure if it was good spiraling or bad until he found himself laughing too.  
  
At this rate, Castiel wouldn’t be filling out any more job applications that day. It was nearly 5, which harkened Gabriel to pick him up. Castiel shut down his computer. He was surprised when he didn’t feel guilty about shutting down early, which ultimately made him feel guilty anyway, which was confusing in its own way.  
  
He felt guilty for not feeling guilty.  
  
Dean watched silently as Castiel folded the laptop. He deflated a little, “So, it’s almost time for your boyfriend to pick you up?” Dean wore sad eyes when he said it. Castiel wasn’t sure how he managed it, but they seemed to reflect the gloominess of the weather outside, even better than the galvanized finishes of the coffeeshop’s décor.  
  
There was a moment of complete silence that was first broken by a snore from the girl passed out on the stool at the front bar and second by the loudest guffaw that Castiel had let out all year, and, mind you, it was nearing the end of April.  
  
Looking lost, Dean waited awkwardly for Castiel to quiet down. He offered a small, consolatory smile in the stead of understanding.  
  
Somewhere behind his mirth, Castiel’s mind was trying to figure out the meaning of this conversation with Dean. If Dean had been under the assumption that Castiel was in a relationship, then why was he talking to him? Were people still nice and naïve enough to seek out platonic friends without ulterior motives?  
  
That was a pleasant surprise.  
  
Castiel was still laughing, just laughing.  
  
And Dean fiddled with a stray sugar packet on the table until he thought better of it and tossed it into a trashcan.  
  
Through his dying laughter, Castiel managed a breathy, “Not my boyfriend,” followed shortly by a matching, “Brother,” before the ludicrisy of the entire thing hit him a second time and he laughed even harder than before.  
  
At least this time he wasn’t entirely alone.  
  
A small smile edged onto Dean’s face, but it still didn’t look like it had registered. “Oh,” he said matter-of-factly. “Oh,” then he began to laugh too, not nearly as loud as Castiel but still pretty loud, and ended up teary-eyed.  
  
Wiping at his own eyes, Castiel took a sniveling breath, trying to make up for the oxygen deficiency he’d experienced moments earlier. “I don’t think anyone has ever mistaken us as a couple before, at least, not to me.” He pressed his hands, fingers spread, palms down into the top of the closed laptop. “I’ll have to ask Gabe if he’s ever heard that before.”  
  
Blushing a little, Dean waved around his hand, acting nonchalant. “My brother and I used to get it pretty often. Strange thing was he never really gave off a gay vibe.”  
  
“Are you trying to tell me that you somehow made up for your brother’s lack of homosexuality?” Words were coming a lot easier now. It was like he was feeding regular carrots into a rusty pencil sharpener instead of frozen ones.  
  
Castiel felt as if they’d made it past a major roadblock and traffic was getting smoother. He was actively having to choose between multiple paths of plausible dialogue. It was all still a bit mechanical but better than searching for words every time.  
  
Dean just shrugged. He trailed his eyes from the table, up Castiel’s chest and face, before settling on something behind him. “It’s about that time.” He must’ve been eyeing the wall clock. “I should probably go make your brother’s latte.” Dean began to stand.  
  
One of Castiel’s hands shot out, catching the hem of Dean’s sleeve. “You don’t have to. It’s not like we’re in a hurry; we just go back to the apartment and binge watch lawyer dramas and sci-fi comedies.” Castiel’s eyebrows knit together as he tried to decide if he should say the rest of his piece. After a moment’s deliberation, his fingers curled tighter into the warm, knit material of Dean’s burgundy Henley. “You should sit a while longer. I’m finally making productive conversation and this is,” Castiel looked out the window as a blush creeped onto his face, “nice,” he finished softly.  
  
Almost certainly in disagreement, the clouds opened and the drizzling that had nonstop been pattering the ground for as long as Castiel cared to remember – the days blurred together when you spent 7 hours each day sitting in the same chair, applying to the same jobs, day in and day out – became an all-out down pour.  
  
The gates had opened and the rush sounded thunderous on the shop’s metal roof.  
  
Since the universe seemed against it, Castiel let his fingers go slack and his hand hit the table, hard. He winced at the thud more than any damage done to his hand.  
  
Surprisingly, though, Dean eased back into the chair, “Okay then.”  
  
And even though Castiel was a lot more content and a lot less anxious and even wanted to talk to Dean, he was devoid of dialogue choices. He really sucked at the whole conversation-thing. Maybe at the life-thing in general.  
  
“So,” Dean dragged out the word; he turned his would-be-brilliant-green-but-in-the-stormy-light-seemed-overcast eyes to the brand-new state of the outdoors, “now do we talk about the weather?”


	2. Truman Capote's In Cold Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel are getting to know each other despite Castiel's unhealthy head-space.

Anxious | Chapter 2: In Cold Blood

It became a thing.  
  
If the day got slow, Dean would venture out from behind the counter to sit with Castiel. Since Castiel wasn’t the best conversationalist, he was relieved that sometimes Dean would just bring his newest book over to the table and read in silence.  
  
If he were being honest, those were Castiel’s favorite days.  
  
Dean seemed to really like reading, to the point that he’d become absolutely engrossed in the story. His lips would move with the dialogue and his face would mimic the expressions of the characters. It was endearing.  
  
It also meant that Dean was, more often than not, occupied enough to be oblivious to Castiel watching him. And Castiel did that a lot.  
  
There were days that Castiel would sit there, memorizing Dean’s facial structure and berating himself for pursuing Engineering instead of Art.  
  
He needed to preserve Dean’s face for when Dean would grow tired of his stunted company and lack of social finesse, and, as an Engineer, he didn’t have the right tools.  
  
Castiel blinked twice rapidly and focused on his laptop’s screen. Apparently, he’d been zoned out long enough for his log-in to reset. He grumbled a little and debated logging in again. He’d probably log in just in time for Dean to distract him again; besides, he’d already filled out 3 job applications that day.  
  
So, he exited out of the web browser and stared at his laptop’s wallpaper. Like the English minor he was, it was an image of his bookshelf at home. Ever since he’d graduated he hadn’t even looked at it. He hadn’t even thought about reading, always stressed over finding a job, preoccupied with how he was failing as an adult.  
  
He looked down their spines in the photograph. He cracked a smile when he saw some familiar titles, books Dean had read while sitting across from him over the last few weeks.  
  
Castiel peeked over the top of his laptop. Dean was over half-way through In Cold Blood, which didn’t really match the profile that Castiel had constructed for Dean, and that made him a little uncomfortable. What if Dean wasn’t what Castiel thought he was? What if Dean didn’t actually enjoy sci-fi or this book? What if… what if Dean didn’t like Castiel?  
  
That was silly.  
  
Castiel ducked behind his computer and chastised himself. Dean wouldn’t come sit with him every other day or so if he didn’t at least enjoy the company. Right?  
  
Looking around, Castiel catalogued the other customers, the same other customers that were always there.  
  
Sleepy – the name he’d given the girl who napped there every Tuesday and Thursday between her Biology lecture and her Organic Chemistry lab – was huddled between her winter jacket on the outside and her cooling chai tea latte on the inside, snoring lightly. Pecky – the guy that always sat in the back corner and tapped at his laptop – was looking at his phone for once, ignoring his open laptop. It wouldn’t last long though. The kid always seemed to be surrounded by textbooks, mostly law and philosophy stuff. He was probably a law student or, better yet, pre-law. He did look to be on the younger side of college. The more determined and optimistic side.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Dean let the book drop to the table. He held one side of it with one hand and reached over with the other, lightly pressing on the top of Castiel’s laptop and closing it partially.  
  
He looked like he was genuinely interested, but looks could be deceiving.  
  
Wow, Castiel was not in the best headspace. He was never in a good headspace these days.  
  
Too tired to come up with a lie, Castiel muttered, “I’m trying to figure out why you’ve chosen me to sit with.” He wasn’t using his laptop anyway, so he shut it off and closed it the rest of the way. “I’m not exactly the best company.”  
  
Dean stared for a moment before carefully untucking the book-jacket from the outside of In Cold Blood and using it as a bookmark.  
  
When he did that, Castiel noticed the sticker on it and the ripped pieces of tape with jagged edges. At one point, the book-jacket had been taped to the book’s hard cover and retaped and retaped until the pieces of tape had built up and yellowed in some places.  
  
It was a library book.  
  
There was no denying it. The white sticker with the barcode had a definite ‘look’ to it that screamed library. Heh. Castiel found the idea of a ‘screaming library’ pleasingly ironic.  
  
Dean closed the book, now with his current spot marked, and returned his gaze to Castiel. He didn’t say anything, just looked.  
  
Under that gaze, Castiel felt like artwork, but not the good kind, not the kind you’d find in a museum or at a gallery. He felt like the one that a kindergartener would bring home and show their parents, like a drawing that looked only like scribbles and required the artist to tell you what they had attempted to draw. He was the drawing that dad put on the fridge not because it looked good but because it was the right thing to do to boost the kindergartener’s self-confidence.  
  
Sadly, Castiel didn’t have any self-confidence. Maybe his father should’ve put more of his drawings on the fridge.  
  
“You’re interesting,” Dean said, smiling.  
  
“You hardly know me.”  
  
“Then tell me about yourself.”  
  
Castiel drew back, away from the table and from Dean. He flicked a skeptical stare over Dean. Was he serious? What did he want to know about Castiel? What could Castiel tell? He was boring.  
  
Threading his fingers together, Dean stuck his chin into the hammock they formed suspended from propped up arms.  
  
Now Castiel was really on the spot. Dean looked like he wanted a story, but there wasn’t anything to tell. Castiel was boring, so boring. Were people supposed to have stories ready? Did they write them in advance and memorize them? Did they make them up on the fly?  
  
Castiel’s eyes were drying out since he was scared stiff and not blinking. They were beginning to sting.  
  
Noticing his discomfort, thankfully, Dean popped his up from his hammocked hands and looked away. “Okay, so I’ll go first; that cool?”  
  
No, it was not ‘cool’ because Castiel’s ears were burning up and his cheeks were pins and needles with blood rushing to them. But, yes, Dean could go first. All Castiel could manage was a barely-there nod.  
  
Dean put his eyes back on Castiel as he readied himself to speak; he kept them trained on the window. Dean’s green eyes seemed to glow.  
  
Outside was foggy, but no more rain, which was nice. It was the kind of fog that amplified the sun’s light in every direction. And Dean’s eyes seemed to collect all of it back together. They were bright, gorgeous.  
  
Clearing his throat, Dean reminded Castiel that he was more than just a pair of eyes. “My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women.” He turned back to Castiel and grinned.  
  
Maybe Dean’s entire face was designed to collect sunlight, because he seemed to shine.  
  
“You sound like a lonely person ad in the paper.” Castiel countered, still a little too focused on how Dean’s face seemed to give off a ‘golden’ vibe despite being pale and freckly.  
  
Resuming his position on his hand-hammock, Dean quirked his lips. “So, you think you can do better?”  
  
No. Castiel had definitely not said that; he’d never say that. He’d think it. He’d drown out all of his other thoughts with it, but he’d never say it.  
  
Biting his lip, Castiel gathered up all of his stray thoughts about himself and tried to put them in a useful order. “I’m Castiel Milton. My brain is usually hijacked by an endless stream of questions that never get answered. The buzzing of their incessant white noise can only by drowned out by natural lullabies like swarming bees or crashing waves. I’ve, unfortunately, completed a bachelor’s degree in Engineering whilst accruing no work experience, making me an unlikely hire. I’m not worried about it, except that I am, all the time. I can’t sleep or eat or breathe without being reminded that I’m paying for it, that I’m jobless and won’t make up the money I pay out. The charges are potholes, potholes that are actually sinkholes, waiting for the worst possible moment to cave in.”  
  
Castiel wasn’t looking at anything by the time he’d finished his piece. It had come out really nicely and he sort of wished that he had recorded it. The coffeeshop had a CCTV system, perhaps it picked up sound. With his blooming whatever with Dean, perhaps he’d actually be able to get to it.  
  
After he blinked a few times, he realized that he was staring over Dean’s shoulder at the trash can. Not the best thing to stare at while describing yourself.  
  
Or maybe the perfect thing, because, no matter how good it sounded, Castiel knew that he still amounted to trash. He just wasn’t very put-together; he was run-down, often discarded.  
  
“You’re right.”  
  
Oh, God, had he said that aloud? Had he just added that to his not-that-bad performance? Had he added that he was actual trash to the end of his eloquent little speech? Dammit. Castiel fought the urge to freeze up and refocused his gaze onto Dean.  
  
Looking at him with awe, Dean hadn’t moved. His mouth was open a little and his eyes were sluggishly making their way from Castiel’s lips to his eyes. Dean looked like a man dying of thirst and, for some reason, Castiel thought it was a good look on him, not that he wished something as painful as deathly dehydration on him.  
  
So, Dean couldn’t possibly have been agreeing with Castiel saying he was trash, that would be way out-of-character. And that meant that Castiel hadn’t said it out loud. Thank goodness.  
  
Once Dean’s eyes had met Castiel’s, his face split into a beaming smile. “You were so right. You definitely did a lot better than me.”  
  
Whatever little high that Castiel had been floating on suddenly plummeted. It was like a rollercoaster that chugged and clicked up the first incline then gave the passengers just enough time on a level stretch at the top to look around and forget that they were on a rollercoaster then whoosh. It turned the corner at the end of the little plateau and you were suddenly falling. Most people scream with delight on rollercoasters, but Castiel could honestly say that he screamed in fear.  
  
Meg had gotten him to ride one once, and he would never subject his body to something like that ever again. He’d had to take his inhaler afterward from screaming so much and that asthma attack had almost led him to a panic attack. Castiel hadn’t even enjoyed the lecture he’d had on the mechanics of rollercoasters. He’d felt nauseous for the entire slideshow but been too frozen in place to leave to go to the bathroom. Instead, he’d spent the hour-and-a-half praying that he didn’t projectile vomit over the four rows of stadium seating ahead of him.  
  
Chuckling a little, Dean shifted his book around on the table, almost as if her were nervous. “I feel like I should go again, but I don’t know what to say.” His hand stilled where it had been fidgeting with the book. “Whatever I would say could never sound as intellectual as that.” He sighed and looked at a point over Castiel’s shoulder, obviously not intending to continue that line of thought.  
  
“It wasn’t that great. Just tell me about yourself.” Castiel smiled, for some reason coaching was a lot easier than rallying himself. However, it just ended up making him feel even more pathetic.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like what’s a hobby of yours?”  
  
Dean tapped the hand he’d left on top of the book. “Reading.”  
  
Okay, duh. Castiel tried to think of something better. “Okay then, what did you go to college for?”  
  
“I didn’t.”  
  
Fuck. Castiel had managed to fuck this up big time. It wasn’t like he cared if Dean had gone to college or not, but by asking that, by assuming Dean went to college, probably painted himself as an entitled bigot. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he-  
  
“I went to trade school to be a mechanic.” Dean said it so normally, like it wasn’t a big deal that Castiel had unintentionally insulted him.  
  
But, wait, Dean worked in a coffeeshop. Castiel leaned forward, suddenly intrigued. “Then why do you work here?”  
  
Dean looked down at his hand on the book and twitched his fingers. They were thick, sturdy; fingers that Castiel could imagine covered in grease and under the hood of a car.  
  
“I worked for my uncle and my father for a bit, fixing-up these gorgeous old cars out in Kansas. It was great.” He peeked up at Castiel from under his golden-brown lashes. He looked like he needed encouragement.  
  
Castiel nodded.  
  
“My mum died when I was little in a house fire, and, after that, my dad threw himself into car restoration. Everything was about cars. We’d go to the junk yards and old car shows and drag races and… I grew up loving cars. But, uh, a few months ago, my father went to a National Car Show out in Gettysburg and he didn’t come back alone. I mean, I’m an adult and he’s an adult and it’s been a long time since mom died, but I still didn’t expect it. He could’ve, at least, warned me.” Dean finished in a whisper.  
  
So, Castiel felt a bit embarrassed; he felt like this was intimate. He wasn’t even sure he knew this much about his sister. Granted, he hadn’t actually seen Anna since their parents’ divorce, but still.  
  
Suddenly, Dean was more ‘related’ to Castiel than his own blood sister.  
  
Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but he missed his chance.  
  
Standing with a jerk, Dean nodded a curt farewell, smoothed his apron, and took his book back to the counter. Obviously, their session was over for the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me a 'coffee' with Ko-fi: [ko-fi.com/theauthorgod](https://ko-fi.com/theauthorgod)  
> Support my Patreon: [patreon.com/theauthorgod](https://www.patreon.com/theauthorgod)  
> or just say hi and remind me to update/eat on my tumblr: [feartheophanim.tumblr.com](http://feartheophanim.tumblr.com)
> 
> All proceeds go toward living expenses in lieu of a job or into my top surgery fund. Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me and for helping out (whether it's by reminding me to do things or fiscally).


End file.
